


Dead on Arrival

by Subversive_Element



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Bad Parenting, Brother-Sister Relationships, Eladrin (Dungeons & Dragons), Gen, Homebrew Content, Light Angst, Mild Gore, Shadar-Kai, Shorts, Sphinxes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26639938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subversive_Element/pseuds/Subversive_Element
Summary: The most recent descendant of a noble bloodline born into the service of The Widow, destined for a life as an emissary of death.Such a deterministic fate would push anyone to wrestle themselves away from their duties, free themselves in any way possible, but the nature of the Shadar-Kai only internalizes the struggle. How can you be free when your very existence draws you back to the place you despise and bars you from having the life others so easily enjoy?He might be the first to try and find a solution, but he hopes he won't be the last.





	Dead on Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Three short snippets I wrote for the backstory of a Shadar-Kai Monk/Druid that I wanted to post somewhere.
> 
> There are aspects which may not be clear to the reader due to the setting being a homebrew world a friend of mine created and a lot has been left open to interpretation intentionally, so keep that in mind. The homebrew setting has replaced the Raven Queen with The Widow, keeping with the same enigmatic theme the Raven Queen had however rewriting her story leading up to her residence in the Shadowfell. For these snippets it's not necessary to write out the changes made, as they're irrelevant.
> 
> I may continue this as a proper story detailing the events between when his ceremony ends and the campaign I'm writing him for starts, depending on feedback and if I find the time and motivation. If this happens, then I will explain the differing aspects of The Widow and the homebrew world.
> 
> I do not claim ownership over anything other than the original characters presented in this work, excluding The Widow.
> 
> Each snippet is separated by (---) dashes. This is my first time using AO3, so apologies in advance if the tags aren't helpful.

It was never enough. He could feel the rage in the raw skin of his palms and the countless bruises, cuts, and other forms of his failures that adorned his dull skin. The duplicitous image of his opponent patiently waited for him to make yet another misstep, taunting him with every breath he took. The room was still, no wind to carry the sand that made up the floor of the pit, only the deafening shroud of silence that would be his only ally.

A whisper cutting through the air was the only warning he received as the spiked chain sprung towards him out of thin air forcing him to maneuver towards it, moving under its lethal reach and dropping low to the ground to avoid the backlash that would have surely ripped his head from his shoulders as the weapon wove its way back to its wielder. The quarterstaff he held swept outwards from his lowered position as he advanced, the curved blade hidden in its head leaping outwards with the motion. His opponent, now revealed, lept over the attempt to maim and unloaded a cracking strike towards him as he stood, forcing him to use his forward momentum to bend outwards around the strike while attempting to unfurl an overhead cleave. The attack never met its target as the rough hewn weapon was wrenched from his grasp, black steel snaking around his weapon as his palms screamed in agony. He shifted his vector towards a low tackle, catching his opponent around the lower midsection and taking them both to the ground, the entangled weapons careening away from the entangled pair.

He was met solely with a mouthful of sand as he hit the floor, the faint whooshing noise his only indicator as to what had happened. He stood, searching for his opponent but was greeted solely with the handle of his weapon meeting his forehead and yet another mouthful of sand as he was sent spinning to the ground. At the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching, he spun while throwing up sand, attempting a blind haymaker at whoever was approaching, only to whiff and be promptly met with a knee to the temple, vision blurry. The remnants of his sight were engulfed by a singular shape, the vague warmth of another body making itself known. He spat upwards at it, internally thankful that none of his teeth had rattled free during the combat.

A brief act of defiance was countered by laughter, its distinct timbre ricocheting off of the flat stone walls surrounding them, engulfing him.

“I’ve missed how lethal you try to be when you’re losing.”

A glare was all he could muster as the woman crouching above him came into focus, smug grin all too present. “I thought we had agreed against the usage of magic, Ilvani.” He eventually grumbled out, sitting upright and wiping spittle from his mouth, the tattoos on his companion’s bare head dancing in his vision as he attempted to orient himself.

“You will find that there are few willing to entertain any notion of rules or fairness in combat, regardless of previous agreements.” She retorted, suddenly seeming much older as the smirk drew itself into a firm line, metal piercings on both lips fitting neatly into place at the corners of her mouth.

“I despise when you make sense while simultaneously being a bitch.” He spat out after a moment.

The smirk returned.

“I dread the thought of what kind of sister I might be were I not the object of your constant ire.”

“I’d much rather settle for the object that had my scythe’s blade tear out their kneecaps.”

“Never settle Irent, it’s unbecoming of a runty upstart such as yourself.”

He scowled, gradually stumbling to a standing position, idly shaking out the sand in one of his boots.

“Your use of ‘runty’ is comical considering you’re older than me, yet shorter, dearest sister.”

“Yet you routinely find me standing over you in this very arena, do you not?”

“...I think you’re lucky you don’t find yourself with some very unbecoming tattoos amongst your collection, considering you demand one from me every time you return home.”

“And I think that you’re lucky that I continue to train you when I return home instead of leaving you to the rabble. Consider the tattoos the payment for your continued survival, or tribute to the one which is evidently superior, whichever you prefer.” She taunted, shifting her weight to her back leg and folding her arms.

“You only train me because the Widow has placed her faith in me, like she has you.”

“And as an agent of the Widow, I intend to ensure that her will is executed. Any prizes I accrue along the way are purely a testament to my own skill.” She said as she turned, giving a pointed sidelong look to him while striding to the arena’s exit.

He mentally calmed himself while waiting for her to exit, picking up his quarterstaff from the sand where it lay and tracing his thumb over the intricate carvings hewn into the unrefined timber. As he recovered he checked the mechanism that allowed the scythe blade to spring forth, cleaning the grit from it. A sigh escaped him as he returned to the center of the arena, stretching sore muscles and patiently waiting.

He closed his eyes and inhaled, paused, exhaled.

Inhale, pause, exhale.

Inhale, pause, exhale.

When he reopened his eyes, he once again was staring himself down, the reflection assuming a stance as he readied himself.

When it leapt into motion, he was ready.

\--------------------

The ceremony had little ceremony in its execution. The small party of three had gathered at the edge of the Widow’s citadel, idly gazing over the dim wastes that lay before them. His parents were present as envoys of the Widow, sparing him nothing but two pairs of critical eyes seated in ghastly visages that he could neither see resemblance of himself or Ilvani in, nor reliably recall their names beyond their titles as envoys.

The plane itself seemed to groan as a stone spire in the distance collapsed, the constantly changing landscape piercing the suffocating stillness as one of the Widow’s Chariots approached, a wretched machination of flesh and clockwork stolen from the minds of necromancers and artificers who strayed into the Widow’s domain. Its emaciated, spider like form made its way to Irent, bowing in its own strange way to present the comparatively small container attached to its back to him. A touch opened it, revealing a finely crafted bone dagger and a small, nondescript obsidian rhombus both set into a fine purple satin. He did not hesitate to acquire both items, allowing the rhombus to insert itself smoothly into his left palm like a sinking ship into the ocean while he slid the dagger into a leg sheath with his right. The Chariot skittered away as quickly as it appeared, leaving Irent once again in the sole presence of his parents.

“Go.” Was all his father had to offer him.

He turned away, stalking his way towards the treacherous cliffside route that looked as unstable as he felt. There was no room for error. He knew that most returned within the day or did not return at all, lost to the vastness of the plane. He schooled his features and tempered his emotions as he passed the first bend that would break his line of sight of his parents, mouth set in a grim, determined snarl as the rubble streaking his path crunched underfoot.

Ilvani had not told him what had awaited her when she had undergone the same journey, but left him only with the advice to trust himself before anything else the wastes had to offer him. There were no dilemmas, no starving beggars or wounded animals that he had to put out of their misery, only the ambient knowledge that dwelling too long on his own thoughts could lead to a fatal misstep or drawing the attention of the Sorrowsworn. The environment itself was the greatest enemy, doing its best to disorient him by subtly influencing downwards paths to lead him higher than where he started, ever nearer to the ashen sky that writhed in a way too organic to be the product of wind. Narrow passageways made wind howl at his sanity and open expanses threatened to lead him astray or off a cliff. The air sat heavy and hot in his lungs when he needed breath, and forced its chilled reach down his throat when it thought he had received a reprieve. Remnants of trees clawed at the sky while grasping at his boots as figures dotted the edges of his vision, urging him to turn, to look, to see them in their macabre glory.

He kept the mountaintop within his sight, knowing that if he lost it he would be unable to locate it once more. The rhombus embedded in his palm seemed to draw him everywhere but his destination, urging him back towards the Widow’s citadel and his parents, whispering false promises of forgiveness and acceptance if only he were to turn back. His rage at the prospect hindered him for a moment as he reached a plateau, finding only a singular instance of the Angry awaiting him.

He sighed, forcing his emotions out with his breath.

The creature shambled with surprising speed towards him, its two heads screaming as its limbs flailed, attempting to bat him off of the cliffs on either side. He calmly walked towards the continuation of his path that lay on the other side of the plateau, dropping below and sliding past the creature's limbs while barely giving it a glance. It unleashed another shriek from its heads as he passed it, hearing its limbs impact the ground where he once stood. A moment passed, and Irent experienced the all-too-familiar sense of having an object careen towards his head from an unseen angle, suddenly jerking his body to the side as a rock the size of his head sailed beyond him down the path he was continuing to walk. Another moment passed, and the wailing of the Angry gradually quieted as it gave up its pursuit.

 _Could’ve gone worse._ He mused to himself, gaze locked on the path ahead of him and the mountaintop that grew ever nearer.

As he reached the sheer face that would lead him to his destination, he didn’t dare look down. Minute handholds peppered the rock, sharp and unforgiving should he falter while enduring the constant peppering of wind-hewn stones from above. His magics as a whole served him little, only occasionally re-enforcing his grasp on the stone or allowing him to gouge a small respite using his dagger. He sneered at himself as he realized that the entire journey was only to exhaust him before he could reach this point, latent ache in his legs and arms only becoming apparent in the moment. A quiet wail in the distance reminded him of his previous errors spurring him to rapidly complete his climb, muscles screaming as he collapsed at the top.

His destination was less barren than his travels, however it still lacked the semblance of life that was at least somewhat present in the citadel. Petite shrubs with mottled green leaves surrounded the flat, open mountaintop, small luminescent berries hidden within their leaves shedding a faint blue-white light. At the center of the clearing lay a giant statue of a winged feline, heavily weathered, chipped fangs bared in a roar. Irent took a moment to rest, then went about examining the statue. He circled it taking in details and oddities, the most glaring being the creature’s left eye which appeared to have been chipped and gouged at by multiple sharp instruments instead of time and the wind, and its mouth which had a strange discoloration compared to the surrounding stone.

_Oh, why else would I have been given a dagger?_

He very calmly slit his right palm, dripping blood into the statue’s mouth allowing it to pool on and around the tongue before stabbing the dagger into the statue’s left eye as best he could, taking a step back after doing so to bandage his hand. There was a pregnant pause as nothing immediately occurred, Irent idly noticing the vague forms of two Lost in the distance as he waited.

After two minutes, the statue began to slowly shed its carapace of stone, the material sloughing off of it like mud in a rainstorm. The creature stretched upon exiting its stone cocoon, an astoundingly casual show of force as muscles rippled across its sleek black form and its silver wings expanding to its full wingspan before retracting. It showed little concern for the dagger embedded in its left eye, licking its chops to ensure it did not miss a speck of blood. Its gaze settled on him once it had finished its routine, sitting upright on its haunches in a fashion befitting an emperor. Its eye was more humanoid than feline, iris seeming to absorb the minute blue-white light emanating from the surroundings like a singularity.

 **“I am Orad Sai. State your name and purpose or resign yourself to eternity.”** It spoke, androgynous voice booming across the landscape and rattling the land to its core.

The rhombus in Irent’s palm resonated with the creature’s voice, pulsing energy through him.

Irent suddenly noticed how dry his mouth was. He swallowed.

“I am Irent Helvyl, here to validate the Widow’s favor.”

 **“Irent Helvyl, son of Emul Helvyl and Zyna Sindrak, brother of Ilvani Helvyl.”** It recited, licking its chops again as though it could taste the information through his blood.

“...Yes.” It was strange to hear his parents’ names out loud, especially from this entity that seemed less organic the longer it spoke.

**“Current age.”**

“Twenty-six.”

**“Age of death, four hundred and seventy three. Maximum possible period of service, four hundred and forty-seven years. Place of death undetermined. Cause of death undetermined. Acceptable.”**

_What?_ He thought as the creature paused, eyes darting away from him momentarily before returning.

**“Irent Helvyl, son of Emul Helvyl and Zyna Sindrak, brother of Ilvani Helvyl, you are allowed a single choice of destiny as per the agreement between the Widow and myself. Make your decision now, any and all vocalizations to the positive or negative will be interpreted accordingly. Your response will be recorded.”**

_Was that an offer? An option to have a predetermined fate if one should so choose? Is this creature that powerful?_ His mind raced, attempting to make sense of his situation.

“Before I am to make a decision, I would desire to know the nature of your agreement with the Widow, Orad Sai.”

**“Such information is prohibited.”**

“Is there any information you are allowed to provide me?”

 **“You already grasp all necessary information that can be provided. Your decision awaits. Do not test my patience.”** The creature warned.

Irent clenched his jaw. _What is the test here? What is the trick? What am I supposed to do?_

The creature’s eye continued to bore into his own as he searched for a solution.

He found none.

A soft tapping behind him made him turn, finding himself looking at the two Lost he had seen in the distance previously. He tensed, ready for their piercing appendages to sail towards him at a moment’s notice.

 **“Decide.”** Orad Sai’s voice vibrated with arcane energy, wiping the two Lost from existence.

_Assuming this is not a farce, I’d be resigning myself to a very timely death roughly halfway through my life, however the amount of unknowns is sufficient enough for that to be a drawback instead of a boon of guaranteed life… and while my work would undoubtedly be dangerous, I won’t allow for my survival or success to be hung on the neck of this forgotten creature’s prophesying._

_Perhaps this was a test after all?_

“I will decline your offer, Orad Sai.” The creature tensed, and Irent thought for a moment that he had made the choice of meeting eternity after all.

His reckoning never came.

 **“Response has been recorded. Acceptable. Do not regret your decision.”** The words hung in the air as a strange mixture of threat and assurance, the creature’s eye softening as it gazed into his.

 **“There will be others.”** Orad Sai hummed to itself as it resumed its stationary pose, allowing the reflective shale of the mountain to reclaim it.

_That was all?_

**“Be glad that there is no more. Your path lies ahead.”** Were its final words to him as it became inanimate once more.

He turned from Orad Sai’s form, still unsure if his decision was the correct one. The cliff and monochrome expanse were no longer displayed before him, just a straight path towards the familiar bend he had gone around to escape the gaze of his parents.

The path did not distort as he returned, Irent making his choice as he rounded the bend to find no one but the Chariot waiting like a grim mascot.

_Correctness be damned. The decision was mine, and mine alone._

The stone in his hand shuddered with the thought, loosening itself and falling to the ground.

_In my fate, I am the only one who matters._

_\-------------------_

Irent checked the containers on his hip for the third time, ensuring that the flask he was drinking out of was actually his water flask and not the flask of ashes, as the heat of the Sen-Tra afternoons often made it difficult to discern. He had shed his armored black cloak once he was far enough away from the main roads, it already having served its purpose in deterring any talkative travellers or other passers-by. His quarterstaff swept in front of him as he trudged along, having already learned his lesson with the waist high Sen-Tra grasses and felt no need to collect further cuts from accidentally stumbling into the sharp mature blades. The oppressive heat left him wishing for the perpetual dusk that enshrouded the Shadowfell, a request that was honored hours later by a rapid transition from evening to night.

The cool night breeze was a welcome respite as Irent pushed back his sweat-slick alabaster hair with a hand, panting slightly. Uncapping his flask, he took another swig of lukewarm water before surveying the area. A lone tree stood out among the unforested plains, remarkably lush and healthy compared to the burnt husks of shrubs struggling to compete with the tall grasses. There was no movement aside from the wind and whatever field rodents were present as far as he could tell, his vision turning the blue and purple hues of the night into a dull grey. He started towards the tree, his mind placing the image and with it the sensation of deja-vu.

He embraced the solitude as he reached the tree, beginning his grim work.

The body he had been expecting to find was less so a cohesive unit and more so a scattered suggestion of a person, limbs and organs impaled on the large, mature sen-tra grasses that sat underneath the singular savannah canopy. Irent attempted to gather the various parts of whatever unfortunate individual had found their final resting place here, placing the limbs and organs in a rough approximation of a corpse. Once he had done so, he stepped back and unscrewed the flask of ashes he had attached at his hip, hurrying his actions when he heard the telltale caws of crows coming to claim a meal. A crude circle was drawn around the remnants of the body with the ashes, druidic runes and glyphs corralling the soul towards Gloom-Vale.

Irent stepped back to ensure that there were no errors in his work, and took a breath to begin the recital that would usher the soul of the fallen Shadar-Kai to him and then back to the Shadowfell. Before he could utter the first word he was overtaken by a murder of crows, buffeting him like a hurricane before eventually alighting upon the stark branches of the tree above him, beady eyes glinting in the minimal light. A crow twice the size of the others stared intently at Irent, its focus seemingly drawing the others to do the same. Irent stared back, frown evident on his creased face, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He waited for a few minutes, focusing on watching the movements of the crows and attempting to ascertain if they were heralding another entity. After ten minutes of silence aside from the occasional caw and no indication of another interruption, he turned his head back down to the corpse, mentally making note that he would have to butcher the birds above if they kept interrupting him.

As he opened his mouth to speak, another did as well.

“I wouldn’t do that.” A vaguely masculine voice called down to him from the treetop above him, a glance revealing a long-eared, auburn figure idly lounging on a branch amongst the crows.

Irent knew there had been something strange about the corvids. “You’re a long way from home.” He growled out, glaring.

The figure shrugged, swinging their legs. “Depends on where home is.”

“I’m not interested in playing your games, leave me be or else the Court will find themselves without a jester.” Irent snarled, squaring his shoulders and planting his feet.

A moment passed, the bobbing of the branch and twitching of crows the only motion breaking the tense air.

“The land has laid claim to that one’s soul before you have, whether or not you know it.” The figure stated, pointing down to the corpse at Irent’s feet.

“I’m sure it has. Now, will you be leaving me be or shall I have to rectify your presence?”

The figure rolled their eyes which absorbed the minimal light in a way that reminded Irent of Orad Sai, except the color was that of embers and not of eternity.

“I’m trying to offer you some assistance, and yet you continue to fight me. It really makes me wonder how you all get anything done.” The figure remarked, exasperation clear even in the low light.

“Why offer? What do you want from me beyond wasting my time, assuming this advice is true?”

“Ah, the right question to be asking. Before I answer, feel free to try and claim the soul.”

Irent continued to eye the figure suspiciously, eventually attempting to recite the necessary passage to claim the soul once a few moments had passed. Upon getting halfway through The Widow’s Call, the connection he was forming between himself and the soul was severed in a spontaneous, automatic fashion once he attempted to bind the soul to himself, an intermediate step in returning it to the Shadowfell. The land made it evident that it was displeased with the action, wind suddenly whipping at his face with foul odor and the ground below his feet becoming unsteady.

“See? I had no intention of leading you astray.” The figure, now clearly an autumn Eladrin, claimed as they lowered themselves to a branch closer to the ground.

“Out with your request. You clearly have a purpose here.” Irent said curtly.

“You all are always such charmers,” The figure huffed out in mock frustration.

“I will sever the connection between the land and this one’s soul, allowing you to do whatever you need to do with it, if you will pledge your future support to a project of mine. Simple as that.” The Eladrin proposed, hands up in a diplomatic fashion.

“What is this ‘project’ of yours? You can’t expect me to just agree with bounds that vague.”

“Nothing that would hurt your kind nor your Widow, in fact something that would most likely be quite beneficial for both of you.”

“You’re still being vague. I meant it when I said no games. What are you proposing and what do you gain? I am not so foolish to believe this a selfless endeavor.”

“As much as you do, don’t be mistaken. You’re not some charity case.”

“Vague, and less than helpful.” Irent said flatly, drawing his quarterstaff.

There was a pregnant pause, both parties staring at each other once more.

The Eladrin sighed. “I don’t know what I expected.” They mumbled, drawing themselves up in preparation. “I’m trying to unite the Shadowfell and the Feywild.”

“...What do you mean?” Irent asked after a moment, eyebrows raised.

“Bringing them together as planes, combining them into one.”

“Why?”

“I have reliable information that doing so would both solve the issues that your kind and the Widow are plagued by, and empower my kin and the Court.”

“Why should I believe your ‘reliable information’? Why has no one realized this before if this is true?” Irent asked, shifting stance to one of aggression.

The Eladrin rolled their eyes again. “Look, I’ll be frank. You aren’t special, I could leave the soul tethered here and wait for another one of your kind to make their way here and see if they will accept my proposal. You clearly don’t trust me, which is honestly a greater problem for you than for me, for aforementioned reasons.”

“You’re only inclining me towards leaving here and reporting your presence.”

The Eladrin shrugged. “You're welcome to do so, however if I am telling the truth, let me ask you this: do you want to have the future decided by someone else, or by you? Are you willing to put the potential rewards and repercussions in another's' hands, knowing your kin?”

Irent only scowled again, this time at himself. He knew he couldn’t take the risk.

“I shall consider your proposal.” He eventually decided, voice hard.

The Eladrin smiled uncannily, leaping back to the higher levels of the tree in a flourish.

“Additionally, it would be in both of our interests to not make either of our superiors aware of this agreement.”

“Yet another complication.” Irent remarked, the Eladrin smirking at him.

_Why must everyone I interact with mock me in such a fashion?_

“I will be in touch.” The Eladrin ended, not allowing Irent another word before manifesting magic in a flash that left the land-bound soul untethered and the Eladrin leaving among the murder of crows.

Irent took a moment to ponder his decision before claiming the soul of the fallen agent, noticing an intricate necklace wound around the severed right hand that he hadn’t previously. He took a moment to sketch a copy of the inlaid pattern after finishing his work, re-binding his notebook and storing it away in one of his many cloak pouches.

He hoped that his path didn’t lead him to a similar fate.


End file.
